Page 28

Mal

Lydian whimpered, her sweet bottom pushing back against Malcom’s cock.

Fook, he was painfully hard. Her sitting on his face?

Her taste on his tongue? The way she rode him with reckless abandon.

He’d been so close to coming. Thank all that was holy he hadn’t.

Because he needed to be inside her, connected with her, as close as physically possible to her.

The most beautiful mewl purred from her throat.

And Malcolm was near crying himself at hearing those sounds.

How was it possible that her pleasure had emotion tumbling volatile through his chest?

Had love burning behind his eyes. Because being with her?

It was having a little piece of heaven in his arms. She was ecstasy.

And he needed to feel that ecstasy. Needed to be even closer to heaven than he was right now. He slid his cock between her legs and notched himself at her core.

“Is that what ye need?” he said between ragged breaths. “Me sinking deep inside, so ye’re so full of me ye can hardly bear it?”

“ Please .”

As though he’d deny her anything. He slid home.

Her thighs spread wider, her back arching, her mouth dropping open on a silent moan.

And he watched the entire thing. Because his gaze was greedy for her, for the flush running down her neck and chest, for the view of her head tipping back, for the gooseflesh pebbling over where he’d just pressed a wet kiss and blew softly over it.

“Move against me, love. Use me to take your pleasure.”

She hesitantly began moving, learning the angles she liked, rolling her hips as he gently thrust into her. It was slow. Slick. Sensual.

Soulful.

He strummed his fingers over her, light and unhurried, knowing she was still sensitive from her prior release. He waited for the signs she was ready for more: the needy cants of her hips, the quivering of her thighs, the quickening of her breaths.

And then she gave them to him. He increased his speed, increased his pressure. She pushed into his hand yet also attempted to push back down on him. Wanting everything he could give her.

“Och, ye ride me so well, lass. Like you were made for it.” Like they were made for each other.

The tight heat of her hugged him deliciously with each slide.

And then, on one drive up into her, he hit a spot that had pleasure streaking through him.

Fook . He needed that again. His hips grew frenzied while hers grew frantic, her pants turning to cries, as he repeated his shallow thrusts over and over, hitting that blissful spot inside her again and again.

“Mal-Malcolm.” She broke off on a sob. “Oh, God.”

“Aye, lass,” he said, his own voice hoarse. He understood all too well. How the pleasure was near painful, sorrowful. Beautiful.

Her intimate muscles lightly fluttered over him.

Fook, fook . She was almost there, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to last once she clenched down on him in bliss.

His fingers flew over her, flattening them and massaging her in small, quick circles.

Her arm shot up over her shoulder and landed in his hair, gripping a fistful, and the most glorious shock of pain shot through his scalp.

He groaned, strumming her faster. He fooking loved when she did that.

And then her muscles went taut, her body arching as a choked cry ripped from her throat.

His thrusts turned desperate, stuttered.

The sounds of her pleasure, the feel of her squeezing his cock.

He bit down on her neck, every muscle turning to iron as he fought to hold off, until he worked every last ounce of pleasure from her.

And as soon as she fell limp, he pulled out and thrust against the crease of her arse.

Once, twice, and then groaned into her neck, pleasure spilling from him, coating her lower back and bottom.

He sank into the mattress, chest heaving, not caring in the least about the pain radiating with each ragged breath.

Malcolm fumbled about with his hand, searching for her nightdress, and then used it to wipe his release from her. He tucked her back into him, banding his arms around her like he could fuse her to himself.

She snuggled back into him, a contented purr leaving her.

“That was…incredible, Malcolm,” she whispered.

“Aye, mo chridhe.”

Her fingers trailed over his forearm, lingering like a whisper of comfort, and then a delicate sniffle broke the quiet of the chamber.

He tilted her chin up to him, a frown pulling at his brows. His gaze snagged on a tear trailing down the curve of her dainty nose.

“Lyddie love?” he murmured, concern coating his low words. “Leannan, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut tight. She drew in a shuddering breath and then her crystalline blue gaze found his.

“Nothing is wrong, Malcolm,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I am overcome. Because of how right everything is.”

His chest seized, a storm of emotions crawling up his throat. Och, he knew exactly what she meant—because he felt it, too.

“I love ye, Lydia,” he said hoarsely. “More than ye could ever know.”